


Anchor

by Minibitx



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cole (Dragon Age) Talks A Lot, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Helpful Cole, Iambic Pentameter, Lavellan/Solas Angst (Dragon Age), POV Solas (Dragon Age), Solas (Dragon Age) is Grim and Fatalistic, Solavellan Hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 13:34:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29917680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minibitx/pseuds/Minibitx
Summary: A late-night conversation between Cole and Solas about fate, choice, and hurt.
Relationships: Female Lavellan/Solas, Fen'Harel | Solas/Female Lavellan, Lavellan & Solas
Comments: 2
Kudos: 5





	Anchor

“Sinking, sliding, falling, falling so far away, every piece a different color. it’s beautiful when it shatters, but the pieces cut.”

Cole’s voice, soft though it was, seemed to echo in the empty rotunda. Solas looked up from the lamplight, and he hadn’t realized how tired his eyes were until he blinked to adjust them.

“Hello, Cole.”

The boy stood, his face half-concealed by his hat, shadowed in the corner near the settee. He was looking down at it.

“The warmth is like firelight, not fire itself, but growing, wrapping, smell of sun on the stones of Arlathan.”

Solas’ heart seized in his chest. Accustomed though he was to the insight of spirits, he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to Cole’s ability to pinpoint memories he didn’t realize he still had.  
It had been that afternoon, a lazy day in Skyhold. No missions to go on until Lelliana’s correspondents returned from the field, and so the sun warmed over a quiet fortress, its rays failing to cut through winter’s outdoor chill, but concentrating through the narrow windows and gathering like warm water in the halls.

He’d been reading, he was always reading, on the settee, the light making pages translucent when he turned them. He only noticed her sit down when he felt the cushion next to him move.

He had his mask in place with a speed that frightened him. Easy affection without full disclosure. 

She answered his greeting but was half cut-off by a yawn, her startling fade-green eyes squeezing shut. She covered it with a fist and leaned back, pressing on his arm. He raised it automatically and found the lady inquisitor’s head resting comfortably on his shoulder. Her hair held the sun’s warmth and glowed like honey. The simplest thing, but for a moment he wasn’t sure how to move. Then she yawned again and closed her eyes, and every muscle in his body relaxed. 

It was fine, he could read with one hand.

They passed the afternoon that way, remaining so long after the arm she slept under fell asleep. The castle was quiet, the sun lulling, but for once he was happier awake.

“It’s soft, like warm blood spilling out. It’s going to hurt in a minute.”

Cole looked up, but Solas had already looked back down at his book when the spirit mentioned blood. He stared at the page, his mind not willing to grasp it.

“I can’t help you because the pain isn’t here yet, but it still hurts, it’s reaching ahead of itself.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Solas said, redundantly.

“It moves slowly, it’s clumsy, it gets stuck on the fences you leap over. If it catches you, it will chain your feet, but you can outrun it.”

Solas massaged his temple with one hand. It was not a new idea – it couldn’t be, Cole only repeated the thoughts that were already in his mind. But how many times would he revisit that argument, when all paths of debate led to the same answer?

“The ambush is known,” he murmured, “it lies on a road narrower than this beneath my feet. The hunter waits with patient steps for me to walk alone.”

“The narrow path beset with storms and rain that snuffs your light. How can you walk on such a path when darkness shrouds your steps?”

Solas’ lips curved in a thin smile.

“I built the road and forged the paths before this world wakened. I know its steps as sparrows know the stories they should sing.”

“She’s going to hurt.”

Solas closed his eyes.

“I know.”

“I won’t be able to help. She won’t let me. She doesn’t want to forget anything. She holds onto it like sheltering a candle – smell of the Keeper’s herbs in the smoke, ‘remember the thunder, fear keeps you safe.’”

“Do you need a person’s consent to cause them to forget?”

“Not always,” Cole shifted, picking at his shirtsleeve with one hand, “But I have to feel their wanting me to.”

“What does it feel like?”

“Like a hand reaching from the water, grasping for anything, anything – a rope, a hand, a reed, something heavy filling my lungs, it’s so heavy, why does it burn?”

He felt the spirit’s eyes on him even before he looked up to meet them.

“Will it be the same?”

“I will make it the same.”

“You know how to swim.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But you won’t.”

“An anchor cannot swim, Cole. An anchor cannot change its course. I forged myself this shape and no smith can bend it. It can only sink and sink until it reaches a depth where no breathing thing can hold it.”

“But you know how to swim. You did swim, powerful strokes parting the waves and reaching for the sunlight – I heard you splashing, I came to throw a rope in the ocean, but its gone, the sea is calm and I can’t find the hand that reached.”

He felt tired, the air heavy on his shoulders as wax dripped down the candles.

“I’m sorry, Cole.”

But the spirit was already gone.


End file.
